Kass tried to think, which wasn’t easy through the toxic haze of her hangover. When had she fallen asleep last night? Or, more likely, passed out? She tried to remember Chase getting dressed and leaving the house.
But all she could recall were the blurry images of his naked body pounding against her naked body . . .
“Sorry. Go on,” she mumbled, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks.
“With what? That’s all. The point is, Chase and I are back together, and we’re better than ever! He had this work thing he had to go to this afternoon. But he’s taking me out tonight, to celebrate. I’ve gotta skip Sunday Night Dinner . . . you don’t think Mommy and Beau’ll mind, do you?”
“What? You can’t miss Sunday Night Dinner!” Kass told her. And you can’t get back together with Chase, she added silently. He’s a jerk. And I’m a jerk, too.
“Just this once. It’s really important to Chase. I’ll tell Mommy I’m sick! You’re sick, too, so she’ll believe me! It can just be her, Beau, Kyle, Benjy, and Bree tonight—and whatever freaks she decides to invite.”
“I don’t think that’s a good—”
“Oh, hey! Didn’t you have a date with Eduardo last night?” Kamille interrupted. “How’d it go? Did you finally hook up, or are you waiting for a sign from God?” Her blue eyes sparkled merrily.
Kass turned away. “I think you’re right, I need to rest. I’m gonna take a nap now,” she mumbled.
“Oh! I’m sorry, sweetie! I’ll leave you alone. Just call me if you need me, okay?” Kamille bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “Feel better! Love you, doll!”
“Love you, too.”
Kamille breezed away. Crawling back into bed, Kass laid her head on the pillow and tried to think.
She had to tell Kamille.
But she couldn’t tell Kamille.
What in the hell was she going to do?
PART III
Christmas
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kamille
Sipping a flute of Veuve Clicquot champagne, Kamille gazed out at the gently sloping green and the sand-colored mountains beyond. It was a warm, dry December afternoon, perfect for a celebrity golf tournament in Palm Desert. Behind her, guests spilled out of the elegant Spanish-style clubhouse—more like a club mansion—and gathered on the stone terrace. Occasionally, the thunk of a golf ball or someone yelling “fore!” cut through the sounds of laughter and conversation and clinking glasses.
“Well? What do you think?” Simone came up to Kamille and tucked her arm through hers. “Do I know how to throw a sick party, or what?”
“Yeah, that’s a nice way to describe an event to raise money for cancer awareness,” Kamille said wryly. “Besides, you’re just the assistant. Didn’t your boss do all this?” She waved her hand at the elegant bistro tables, the tuxedo-clad servers, the outdoor raw bar, the jazz trio, the flowers, everything.
“Just the assistant? Bite your tongue, bitch! Don’t you know that the assistant always does everything? No, you wouldn’t know that, since you’ve never had a real job.”
“Fuck you!”
“Mmm, girl fight. Can I watch? Or better yet, can I get between the two of you?”
Kamille smiled as Chase walked up to her and Simone, a wide grin on his face. He was dressed in pink-and-yellow plaid pants and a white polo that set off his deep tan—the tan he’d gotten during his and Kamille’s recent getaway in Cabo, to celebrate his twenty-third birthday. He was carrying a club—no, iron—and swinging it lightly, as though practicing his driving—or was it putting? Kamille wasn’t a golfer, but she’d tried to learn the terms, just to keep up with her boyfriend, who loved the sport almost as much as baseball.
“So how are you lovely ladies?” Chase said, draping his arms around Kamille and Simone’s shoulders. Chase knew Simone from several double dates the four of them had been on (i.e., Chase, Kamille, Simone, and Simone’s hookup du jour). Simone, unlike Kass and Kat, actually liked Chase and got along well with him.
“If you want a threesome, asshole, hire a hooker,” Simone joked. “So how much money did you raise for us today? Forty thousand? Fifty?”
“Wrong. A hundred,” Chase replied smugly. “Do I rock or what?”
“Wow, you definitely rock,” Simone told him. “If Kamille wasn’t here, I’d give you a blow job right this second.”
“Really, Simone?” Kamille said, disgusted.
“Just kidding! Excuse me, guys, I’ve gotta go see if my favorite L.A. Raider needs something. Like a drink. Or an excuse to leave his wife. Poor guy, he looks so lonely!” She wriggled her eyebrows and drifted off in the direction of a tall, cute guy standing near the hors d’oeuvres table.
“She is so gross, I’m sorry,” Kamille murmured to Chase. “Don’t get me wrong, I love her like a sister. But still.”
“Enough about Simone, let’s talk about us,” Chase said, pulling her in close and kissing her.
Kamille leaned into the kiss, sighing with pleasure. Things had been so good between them lately: no fights, no drama, no mystery phone calls from mystery skanks, nothing. Even the tabloids seemed to have eased up on them. And because the baseball season was over, he had tons of free time to just be with her.
Actually, Kamille was spending most of her nights at Chase’s house in Holmby Hills lately. He’d told her right after Thanksgiving that he wanted to have her to himself, i.e., no roommate, i.e., no Kass. Which was fine with Kamille, since they no longer had to worry about privacy or being inhibited about making love on the living room rug, the kitchen counter, the dining room table, wherever . . .
Still, it meant that Kamille saw less of Kass than ever before. Plus, Kass was in the middle of final exams, so she was hardly ever at Café Romero these days. She’d even missed a couple of Sunday Night Dinners, to study, which was kind of unheard of. Kamille made a mental note to pin Kass down for a girls’ night soon, just the two of them, to catch up. Kamille missed Kass, and she felt weird not knowing what was going on with her—like was she still going out with Eduardo? Did they ever hook up? Or had she found someone new through Lovematch? Basic, important stuff.
Chase’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Hey, babe? Did I tell you, my mom invited us for Christmas dinner?”
“Yeah, about that.” Kamille made a face and tugged at the front of his shirt. “I don’t know what to do,” she said quietly. “I’ve never missed Christmas dinner with my family, ever. But I don’t want to disappoint your parents either. Especially not before I’ve even met them.”
She and Chase had been trying to get down to Laguna Beach to see his parents for a while now. But between Kamille’s shooting schedule—Giles had lined up two new ads for her, with Belladonna Cosmetics and some trendy new fashion designer with an unpronounceable name—and Mr. Goodall’s numerous business trips (he was a lawyer for some big-deal firm), they hadn’t been able to find a free day. She and Chase had spent Thanksgiving apart: he with his family in San Francisco, visiting with his elderly grandparents in their retirement home, and she in L.A. with her family. She’d hated not being with him for that holiday. She wanted to spend every holiday with him, now and forever.
“Do you think we might be able to see them for Christmas Eve instead?” Kamille said, pouting. “Or maybe go down the day after?”
“Um . . . not Christmas Eve.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have special plans for us.”
“You do? What kind of plans?”
“Sorry, I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”
Kamille punched Chase in the arm playfully. “You jerk! Tell me!”
“Can’t. This is, like, classified stuff. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Chase plucked a glass of champagne from a passing server and gulped it down. “Anyway, how’s this? Why don’t we have Christmas dinner with your folks? I’ll talk to my mom and see if she’d be okay with us coming down the day after. I’m sure she’ll be cool about it.”
“Really?”
/>
“Really.”
“That’s a huge relief, thank you! You’re the best!”
“Yeah, you can thank me later. At home.”
“Mmm.”
Chase kissed her again, more passionately this time. His lips tasted yummy, like champagne. As Kamille kissed him back, she was vaguely aware of a photographer nearby, taking their picture; she could hear the familiar, steady click, click, click of a professional camera.
But it was fine with her. She was getting more and more used to having her picture taken, and she didn’t mind as long as the pictures were nice ones. Besides, Chase had mentioned just recently that his publicist, Zoe, wanted lots of PDA when they were out together, to reinforce their image as a superhappy, supertogether couple. If making out with Chase in public kept the media vultures from spinning lies about him, then Kamille was more than willing to oblige.
She felt Chase’s hand sliding down her back, caressing softly. “Hey, are you wearing panties under that dress?” he whispered in her ear.
“Chase!” Kamille cried out, blushing furiously.
Chase hugged her, laughing. Kamille laughed, too. The photographer continued shooting: click, click, click. Feeling intoxicated from the champagne and the sunshine and the sheer, giddy joy of being with her amazing boyfriend, Kamille imagined the headline that would accompany these pictures on tomorrow’s blogs: CHASE AND KAMILLE MORE IN LOVE THAN EVER!
This time, it would actually be the truth.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kass
Kass walked—no, skipped—out of the film school building, clutching her backpack against her chest. She’d taken her last exam. The fall semester was over, done, finished. She could finally stop living in the library and start being a human being again.
She was not one to complain about hard work or a rigorous schedule. But this past “hell week” (and the weeks leading up to it) had been especially hellish since she’d overloaded on credits, which translated into more exams and papers than in previous semesters. She’d had enough caffeine, energy drinks, and not showering for a while. (She sniffed her armpit discreetly. Not too bad, thanks to Kamille’s baby powder that she’d dumped all over herself this morning.) She wanted to take a long, hot bubble bath, drink a glass of wine (yes, wine!), and watch back-to-back episodes of Buffy on TiVo.
And tomorrow she planned to book a beauty day at the spa, using the about-to-expire gift certificate her mother had given her for Christmas last year.
And after that, she was going to call Eduardo. Finally. And apologize for freaking out on him over that stupid tabloid story about her being a flat-chested man or whatever. And see if he might give her another chance.
This was the new Kass. After her disastrous lapse in judgment right before Thanksgiving (she had nicknamed it the SHE, i.e., Stupidest Hookup Ever), she had gone through a brief period of depression, self-hatred, confusion. She’d consumed countless pints of Ben & Jerry’s, lost sleep, and broken out in major zits trying to figure out what to do—all while juggling the pressures of studying for exams and writing several epic papers.
In the end, she’d decided not to tell Kamille what happened between her and Chase. She wanted to put the SHE monster behind her. What good would it do to break Kamille’s heart—not to mention sever their sisterhood and best friendship forever? And possibly get strangled in the process? (Kamille was definitely the most temperamental one in the family.)
So Kamille and Chase were still together. Big deal. Their relationship wasn’t long for the world, anyway. Kamille had never lasted more than a few months with any of her boyfriends. Besides, once a cheater, always a cheater, and Chase was sure to dump Kamille for someone else any day now. Or else Kamille would catch him in the act, one or the other. Kass intended to remove herself from their drama-filled, dysfunctional equation and move on. She had her own life to live.
Thankfully, Kamille hadn’t been around much, which had made it easier for Kass to cultivate her Noh mask, her fake smile, her neutral-friendly voice. (“How are you and Chase doing? Good? I’m so happy for you!”) Kamille was busy with her modeling, and she was crashing at Chase’s house most nights. And Chase seemed to be avoiding any contact with Kass. In fact, she hadn’t seen him at all since . . . well, since the SHE. Which was fine with her.
The thing was, Kass actually felt good now. Hopeful. Light—as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. And strangely, miraculously, she was eager to jump-start the spark she’d had with Eduardo. As awful as it sounded (and she would never admit this to anyone, least of all Kamille), her terrible tryst with Chase had made her realize that she actually liked sex. Wrong person, yes, but all the right feelings, sensations, impulses. She was eager to experience them again, this time with the right person.
With Eduardo, if he would have her?
Kass continued down the path, breathing in the cool, crisp air, grinning to herself. Loud rock music was blasting from a dorm window, and someone let out a euphoric scream. Students celebrating the end of the semester. She had to stop by the business school to pick up a paper. Then she had a date with Buffy . . .
She spotted him walking out of Marshall. She hadn’t expected to run into him. Not today. Not with dark circles under her eyes and her armpits reeking of baby powder. Had thinking about him made him materialize like this? Was some mischievous Cupid god messing with her?
“Hey.” Eduardo stopped in his tracks and adjusted the backpack on his shoulder. His face was as much of a Noh mask as hers was around Kamille.
“Hey.” Kass pushed back a lock of (greasy) hair and gave him a little wave. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Yeah, not since the econ exam on Monday? How’d you do?”
Well, of course, she’d seen him in econ. Sitting two rows over and not looking in her direction, not once. That wasn’t what she meant.
“I think I did okay? Although that essay question about globalization kind of tripped me up.”
“Yeah, me, too. I think Professor Mueller threw in a superhard one just to be nasty.”
“He’s such a sadist. I’m so glad that class is over. I won’t miss him at all.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
Silence. They stepped aside to let a girl pass with her rolling suitcase dragging behind her. A couple of guys walked by, talking animatedly about their digital photography final. In the distance, somebody yelled, “Fight on!,” and then more voices joined in. The USC battle cry. Kass stared at the ground, wondering if she should say something, or just wish Eduardo a happy holiday and take off. She really should at least wash her hair before she tried to win Eduardo back . . .
“Listen. Eduardo.” Her voice cracked.
Eduardo gazed at her. At that moment she saw something in his eyes . . . something familiar, warm, wistful. Not Noh-like at all.
It was all the encouragement she needed. To hell with a makeover. She dropped her backpack to the ground, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
He hesitated only for a second, then kissed her back. Kass melted into his embrace, his lips, giving in to the moment completely. It was better than the empty physical heat she’d shared with Chase . . . way better, because she cared about Eduardo. A lot.
“Get a room!” someone called out.
Kass stepped back, breathless.
“Um . . . wow!” Eduardo said, laughing awkwardly. “Does this mean . . . are you . . . that is, are we . . .”
“Yes,” Kass said, nodding happily. “I am. We are. This is my apology—for being such a jerk.”
“Um . . .” Eduardo laughed again. “Look, I’d love to pursue this further, and I guess we have a lot to talk about? But I have to race home and pack. I’m flying home tonight, to Austin, to spend Christmas with my family.”
“Oh!”
“Maybe I can call you?” he suggested.
“Yes, definitely! Please call me!”
Eduardo smiled and touched her face. “You’re nuts, you know that, r
ight?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“It’s a good thing I like crazy girls, then,” he joked.
Kass grinned.
He turned and left, waving. Kass stood there watching him go, positively goofy with happiness. Everything was right with the world again. It felt like Christmas morning, and it wasn’t even the middle of December yet.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kat
Cradling a glass of 1982 Château Margaux in her hand, Kat regarded the carnage of presents, gift boxes, wrapping paper, and ribbons under the tree. It looked as though a storm had passed through their living room.
Christmas. It was her favorite day of the year, mess and all.
She wandered over to the dining room and gave the dinner table a last look. She and the girls had set everything out earlier, including the red embroidered tablecloth and napkins that David’s grandparents had brought over from Hungary . . . the napkin ring holders that her mother had made out of antique silver spoons . . . and the nice china, the white-and-gold Wedgwood, which had been her and David’s wedding pattern.
She knew she had so much to be grateful for. Beau. Her incredible children. The restaurant. She remembered those terrible days after David had died, not knowing if she was going to be able to survive, to raise the girls on her own, to pay the bills. But somehow, she had created a new life for them all. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good. Some days, it was even great.
And on this day, it seemed downright amazing. The delicious smell of roast turkey wafted from the kitchen. Her favorite Christmas CD, by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, was playing on the iPod dock. The Château Margaux was sublime, from David’s personal collection of “special-occasion wine.”
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